Drinking Problems
by badjujube
Summary: "How can you teach a vampire to abstain from humans?" I asked Carlisle. "Starve them and take them to the zoo?" He shook his head at me and smiled. "Rehab," he said. Rehab for vampires. It was the worst idea I'd ever heard.
1. Sunday Morning Coming Down

a/n: Enormous thanks for excellent beta action by ElleCC and Raina/RaindropSoup of Project Team Beta. I don't own it.

"J. Whitlock." Ha! That's an awfully pretentious moniker for that redneck, serial monogamist, Dukes of Hazzard wannabe, overgrown Confederate tick!

I dig my fingers into the trunk of Esme's favorite maple hard enough to make a dent and then let up a little. Poor Esme. She didn't do anything wrong except marry the most myopic, delusional lunatic ever to drink a deer.

That distinct purring sound of a well-restored American muscle car engine rolls into the driveway. I had been willing to bet he's got one of those "General Lee" replicas, but this is a 1965 Mustang, dark blue. Nice choice, if you like muscle cars.

I want to see how old "J. Whitlock" is doing, by which I mean I 'm hoping he's doing horribly. I hope he's had pieces gouged out of him by werewolves and is saddled with some immortal nag of a woman, preferably one with a facial deformity and an unfortunate love of boy bands. Maybe she likes reality TV and snorts when she laughs. I scowl to myself up in my leafy perch.

Except that the first person I see stepping out of the passenger side of the dark blue '65 Mustang and looking around _isn't_ J. Whitlock.

I _know_ J. Whitlock, and he looks nothing like this.

I should tell you, there's this sublime moment whenever I see a really beautiful, desirable woman, right before I hear her annoying thoughts, where it's just me and my lust and the "what might be" of us. The "what might be" in a world where I can't read her mind and know what she's going to say next and how she's thinking about how she looks or how much my watch cost or how to attract my attention and so on. Or even worse, she's got crazy thoughts and I feel like I'm watching Twin Peaks, but the show won't end after an hour, and I know at some point she's going to want to get it on wearing a prom dress, reciting Sylvia Plath and sobbing. Sadly, I speak from experience.

_This_ girl gives me that "what might be" in spades. This girl is the _ultimate_ in "what might be."

She's wearing a white tank top with a black lace bra showing through. She's got on these tight jeans and ragged-looking black boots and a ton of metal and black leather jewelry. Her hair looks downright _dirty,_ and she's got like two weeks worth of black eye makeup on. It's totally_ not_ my favorite look, that grungy "I sleep in a van" look.

But, oh boy, would she clean up nicely. She's small-framed without looking like a little girl. She has dark brown hair and luminous skin and as she turns in the direction of the woods, I see her dark red eyes and delicately pretty face. I indulge in a brief fantasy about her, making the most of my time with her before her repulsive thoughts ruin the romance.

Yes, I said _"romance." _I'm not a complete dog. My fantasy dallies a moment in the sweet and genuine before diving headlong into the gutter. I think about what it would be like to live with someone who isn't Emmett. Picking out throw rugs, doing crossword puzzles in Arabic, you know. But I think the dirty stuff, too. It's been a while, and she is _that _delicious.

But my magical moment with my new sweetheart is ruined by the predatory hand of the real J. Whitlock wrapping around her waist, bringing me back to reality. You know, the reality where I'm up in a tree, fa fantasizing about a woman I've never met and will have no interest in once her thoughts come in loud and clear. Which should be happening in 3…2…

And then I realize that I haven't heard her yet, which is weird.

But maybe I should go back a bit and let you know how I got here.

**a/n: Thanks for reading! **

**xoxo**

**JuJu**


	2. Genetic Predisposition

**a/n: Thank yous to the delightful and talented ****PLLHalebSpoby and Lyta7 of Project Team Beta for the amazing job fixing my crazy. There were some wise suggestions they made that I'm too weird to follow so the mistakes are all mine.**

I'm looking at myself in the mirror when I hear Emmett come into the house. I'm trying to decide if I'm getting that oniony, papery looking skin that older vampires get. I hope not, but it's kind of hard to tell.

Carlisle doesn't have that crackly, pasty skin, despite being older, but then he _is_ more active than I am, spending lots of time holding down his human job in the hospital and maintaining his perfect Norman Rockwell life with Esme. It's gross. Vampires were just not meant to ride bicycles and listen to NPR.

I, on the other hand, am the poster child for proper vampire behavior.Vampires were meant to spend a lot of my time just sitting around and brooding, listening to moody music and talking about how agonizing immortality is. But it would suck even more if I got all old and freaky-looking like Aro. I swear, he looks more like Howard Hughes every day. I wouldn't be surprised if he's keeping jars of his own venom somewhere.

"What the hell did you do to my computer?" I can hear Emmett's voice from the other end of the house. Damn. I thought I had enough time to get everything put away before Emmett got back from running errands. Emmett's a pretty chill guy, but he gets a little fussy about his computer.

"Coming!" I yell, making my way toward the end of the house where he has his office set up. "I was trying out that new recording software and I needed it." I stop in the doorway and watch as Emmett gently unhooks cables and cords from his baby, his MacBook Pro, and coils them up, placing them on the desk I use when I work in here.

"Well, I'm glad that you were doing something besides pouting, but I've got Aro set up to Skype us in twenty minutes and I've got to be ready to switch to a video feed if he screws it up." Which Aro totally would. Seriously, the guy is thousands of years old, but he is useless when it comes to technology, like most old people. Plus, we have to do a video thing because he's so superstitious that if he can only hear our voices, he gets freaked out. I saw him sentence a vampire to be destroyed because the guy's voice sounded so weird on speakerphone. It's the only reason Emmett is even alive, if you can call it that.

**How Emmett Met His Maker:**

_Emmett was a wide-eyed American G.I., stationed in Italy at the end of World War II when he had the bad luck to decide to visit the ancient city of Volterra. He had heard that the damage from the war had been surprisingly light. An especially virulent flu had swept through the city in 1941 and art-loving Nazis followed in 1942, so everyone in Europe had decided that Volterra wasn't worth attacking or raiding. What neither the Allies nor the Axis knew was that the flu and the art-collectors were the invention of the ancient vampires who had run the city for centuries. The rumors succeeded in keeping almost everyone away from the denizens of the city as well as its art and architecture._

_Emmett McCarty had been the smartest kid in his family of ten in West Virginia, and he figured that the army would help him go to college to study engineering. Then Pearl Harbor was bombed_, a_nd he found himself using his considerable hunting abilities, honed through years of rustling up dinner for his big family, to shoot Italians in their own cities. _

_t was all over but the singing when he found himself with enough mobility and American currency to visit a few legendary European cities before heading back to the States. He had seen pictures of the remarkably well-maintained Gothic architecture and irrigation systems of the city of Volterra. He cashed in a favor for a ride in a Jeep and took a sketchpad and a pack to the walled city. _

_The city was nearly abandoned_, _and he thanked whatever deities were watching over him that he had brought his own provisions. He wandered the city, amazed by the way that modern life had hardly touched it. He also noticed that it had several centuries-old features that still made remarkable sense. The viaduct system would have ensured that the city had adequate water, supplemented by the way the roofs of many of the public buildings had been designed to drain into the water system. Well-designed plumbing and sewers flushed waste away from the city. Emmett found himself questioning how the flu had hit here as hard as it had considering how well designed these systems were. _

_It was near dusk and he was sketching in the Plaza of St. Marcus, the patron saint of the city, when he noticed two men bickering in the shadows over a pre-war radio. Emmett could see several of the radio's parts spread out on the ground as the men argued in Italian. Emmett knew enough Italian to know that they were trying to blame each other for the condition of the radio._

_He walked over to the men to offer to help and was met by their simultaneous fixed glares as he drew near. Emmett could see now that they were dressed identically in dark robes and wondered if they were priests or monks. _

"_Hey, I was wondering if I could help?" Emmett offered his help in English first as it was far more comfortable for him. The men stared at him, seemingly without blinking or breathing. Then they turned to each other and seemed to agree upon something silently._

"_You know how to fix our radio?" one of them spoke with a slight smile. He had a heavy accent, but his voice was warm and inviting._

"_Yeah, I know a bit about machines." Emmett extended his hand. "Lt. Emmett McCarty, U.S. Army. I was just taking in the sights here." He waved a big hand around the plaza with a smile. "It's a beautiful city."_

"_Yes, but you can fix it?" The other one spoke this time. His accent was different_, _but his voice was just as pleasant. Emmett nodded, wondering if these guys weren't a little simple. There had to be some reason they weren't in uniform, being adult men in Italy at the end of the war. Either village idiots or monks, Emmett decided. Maybe both._

"_Please," the first one said, gesturing towards the machine with a smile that seemed a bit sinister to Emmett. He bent down to look at the radio, trying to keep an eye on the two creepy priests at the same time._

_He fixed the radio easily. He had always had a bit of a sixth sense when it came to technology, so this was easy work for him._

_The sinister Italians were surprised (and perhaps a bit miffed_) _ at how quickly he fixed it. But it didn't stop them from inviting him to dinner. Emmett figured it would be nice to spend the night indoors and to get a meal that wasn't K-rations. _

_It turned out that they were inviting him for dinner, as in, he would be dinner for their boss, a several millenia-old vampire named Aro._

_But Aro had to touch him in order to eat him. Which he had every intention of doing; strapping Americans didn't come along every day and the healthier the human, the better the meal, just like chickens. But Aro had a special talent, too. When he touched people, he could read their minds. Not just what was on the surface of their minds, like Emmett's future roommate, but everything, all the layers, every tedious, hackneyed, boring bit. And what Aro saw in Emmett's wholesome, American G.I. semi-hillbilly mind was that Emmett had a gift for technology. A knack that was sorely lacking among the current members of the Volturi guard. _

_Yeah, Aro had a tracker and a guy who could see the relationships between people like ribbons connecting them. He had a set of twins who could make people feel agonizing pain or absolute numbness. But he didn't have anyone who could even repair a phone line or fix a car. They couldn't even maintain a constant temperature in the library, and many of the ancient treasures were disintegrating from the heat and the humidity._

_Aro needed a guy like Emmett; so he did what he had done since before the birth of Christ. He recruited Emmett in the only way he knew how: by force._

"What does Daddy want?" I ask, because it pisses Emmett off to be reminded that Aro is his maker. Emmett would far prefer to be Carlisle's son, and he often thinks about how I don't deserve the honor. Yeah. Big honor. Being the spawn of the Ralph Nader of vampires.

The funny thing is that Aro _adores_ Emmett. He really does think of him as a type of son. Emmett just kind of tolerates it, and I know he feels some sense of obligation to Aro. He's a loyal guy, our Emmett.

"He said he needs our help with something. It better not be Guard bullshit. I told him that's why he's got Jane." Occasionall, Emmett's dad would try to get him to take care of some out of control vampire in our area. Emmett staunchly refused to indulge him. A vampire who's squeamish about homicide…go figure.

The problem is Emmett abandoned the lifestyle of his maker thirty years ago and refuses to go back to it. I'm more open-minded; every ten years or so, I'll decide to embrace my true nature and let my inner Dracula come out, if you know what I mean. Plus, it pisses Carlisle off. Are you sensing a theme here?

Emmett says I'm too old to have daddy-issues and that I should grow up.

I tell him I'm not the one that watches some Disney show. Which is totally true. Emmett is obsessed with this show on the Disney channel called _Eclipse_ about these teenage witches.

To his credit, he watches it just to see Rosalie Hale, this little blond actress who he thinks is pretty. Still, he's a 70-something year old vampire watching Disney shows. Weird.

Plus, he's not exactly one to talk about Daddy issues.

Speaking of which, we sit there waiting for a few minutes while they try to figure out how to use the Skype connection in Italy. First, all we have is audio of Aro saying, "Hello? Hello? Emmett? Edward? Can you hear me?" really loudly. Then we hear him trying to tell Alec that he's doing it wrong while Alec mumbles under his breath.

Emmett tells them how to get the web cam working, and we get Emmett's oniony-skinned dad on visual. Except that he doesn't know where to look, so he's bent down over the keyboard.

Finally, we get him to look into the little green dot on the top of his computer and talk to us.

"Emmett, I've been thinking of what we talked about last time you were here. You know, about…" Aro looks around the room and gestures for Alec to leave. "About showing some…_leniency_ to others of our kind who expose themselves to scrutiny in less…_negligent_ ways." Aro has lowered his voice and is clearly having a hard time saying the word "leniency." It sounds like he's got a hairball.

"Well, Aro, I'm glad that you have given that some thought. I just think that with advances in technology being what they are, you're going to have some understandable…exposure."

"Well, we've had a bit of a…breach." Aro looks as nervous as I've ever seen him. This must have been major. Like catching a member of the guard sparkling on national TV or something. "I want to suggest an alternative…consequence for such infractions. I've been discussing this with Carlisle and I've decided to…support the proposal he made to me the last time he was in Italy."

No. No, no, no, no. I am not hearing this. This is the worst idea Aro has ever had, supporting the worst idea Carlisle has ever had.

Ok, maybe it's not the worst idea Carlisle ever had, but it's the worst idea he's ever been an ongoing pain-in-my-ass about over the course of several decades. And now Aro is going to cosign his crazy and wants Emmett and me to help?

Fuck my endless life.

**a/n: My apologies on the wait; I mismanaged my time horribly. Thanks for reading and the lovely reviews. I'll see you in a bit!**

**Xoxo**

**JuJu**


	3. Pulling a Geographic

_**Geographical Cure**__** (a.k.a Geographic ):  
While still drinking, an effort to cure our alcoholism by getting a 'fresh start' in a new location. It doesn't work. There is a saying around AA, 'Wherever you go, there you are.'**_

_**When you stop drinking, you have to deal with this marvelous personality that started you drinking in the first place. -Jimmy Breslin**_

**a/n: Big thank yous to 4meJasper and Bigblueboat from Project Team Beta for AGAIN trying to show me how to use commas. **

"What's this place called?" Emmett asks me, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. We had tried to fly into Port Angeles, but it was too foggy. Crappy rural airports. Emmett likes them; he says he likes to pretend he's in _Casablanca_, walking right up to a little tiny death-trap plane. I mean, death trap in the "humans die in them" sense, of course.

So, we had to rent a car in Seattle and speed over to Forks, trying to get there before the sun gets high enough in the sky to attract attention to our luminescence.

"Forks," I say, trying to find some sunglasses in my satchel. "Did you steal my sunglasses?"

"Your sunglasses aren't big enough for my head," Emmett answers. "Just 'Forks'? Not 'Grand Forks' or 'North Forks'?"

"Forks," I answer tersely. "I know I put some sunglasses in here. Are you sure you didn't borrow them?"

"Read my mind," Emmett answers, grinning at me. "You lived there before?"

"Yeah, in the 1920s," I answer. "I can't always read your mind. It happened with Carlisle, too. If I spend a lot of time with someone, they develop natural ways to block me. Like, right now you're running numbers through your head."

Emmett just smiles and looks at the road.

"Did you take my sunglasses?" I ask him again.

"When would I have done that?" He glances over at me. "While you were sleeping on the flight? Oh, wait, you don't sleep." He shrugs his shoulders at me.

I give up on the sunglasses and slump back into my seat. Which is kind of uncomfortable since we are in this tiny car. I sit back up, scowling.

"Why are we in a clown car?" I ask Emmett.

"It _is_ a little small, huh?" Emmett answers, looking around the phone booth sized car we rented. "I wanted a hybrid, and this is all they had."

"A hybrid?" I ask. "Why would you want a hybrid?" I grin at him maliciously. I know why he wants a hybrid.

"I wanted to check out the engine," he says. He refuses to look at me.

"Liar," I say.

"No," he says. "Really. I'd only driven that Prius in Toronto that time. When we went to visit that set? That was a great trip, right? Remember that woman recognized you from some big Nazi soiree in Paris in the 1940s and we convinced her that she was senile? What were you doing in some big Nazi-fest anyway?"

"I know what you're doing, Emmett." I shake my finger at him. "You think if you accuse me of being a Nazi sympathizer, I'm going to pretend that I don't notice that you rented this pathetic tin can just to impress Carlisle."

"At least I'm not a Nazi," he counters, looking back at the road.

"I'm not a Nazi," I say, slumping back down.

Emmett changes the radio station.

"I was listening to that," I complain. God, I wish we could have flown into Port Angeles!

"You were listening to the Grateful Dead station?" He looks at me skeptically.

"Yeah," I say. I change the station back. "That new job Kurt has for us is some Summer of Love thing. I'm _researching_."

Emmett and I work for Hollywood. He does those websites they put up for new movies that no one ever visits, and I do film scores. Don't ask me what films we've done, though. We don't tend to get the big, reputable movies. Hollywood people don't trust anyone who's not willing to sit down for a chai with them or attend two innings of a Dodger game in their front row seats.

In other words, we do weird little art films, B-horror movies, and stuff for Lifetime Movie Network. I'd love to do something that doesn't have someone from a nineties television show or an ambitious porn star. And don't get me started on the art films. Seriously.

"Anyway," I say. "You could impress Carlisle with your knowledge of hippie-rock if you listened to the Dead."

"They're 'the Dead' now?" Emmett did air quotes. "You're a big Deadhead now?"

"I've always been a man of the people, Emmett. You know that." Actually, I'm totally not. I make Emmett deal with real estate agents and delivery people. I can't stand having to listen to all the _thoughts._

Emmett just laughs.

We have to drive through the town of Forks on the way to Carlisle's place, even though it's kind of out in the boonies. Which I suppose is great if he's going to invite a bunch of vicious bloodsuckers out here and expect them to go cold turkey.

I look at the sky. "Shit, Emmett! We're like five minutes away from being glowworms. You better speed this sardine can up."

Emmett steps on the gas. It takes us mere seconds to pass through the town of Forks because it's podunk like that. Unfortunately, it takes only a minute or two before we hear the sound of a siren and see flashing lights in the rear-view mirror.

Emmett looks at me with his eyebrows furrowed. "You couldn't have heard him thinking about doughnuts or anything?"

I glance at the cop behind us. His thoughts are really, really quiet. I totally missed them. I shrug my shoulders at Emmett.

He pulls over and rolls down the window. "I really hope we get some major cloud cover in the next few minutes," Emmett murmurs at me.

The cop ambles up to Emmett's window and leans down slightly. He's a typical-looking small-town cop, navy uniform, mustache, and ticket book. But his thoughts are unusually dim for me. It's disconcerting, especially since I can see a wry smile on his face.

"Gentlemen," he speaks dryly. "I didn't think you _could _speed in one of these."

Emmett shrugs his shoulders and smiles. "Sorry, sir." Emmett trots out that corn pone, backwoods, Southern accent of his and that Boy Scout smile. "We're running late for breakfast. Mom's gonna have our hides!"

The cop squints at us skeptically. "You have family here?"

"Esme and Carlisle Cullen," he says.

"Out on Mill Creek?" Finally, Emmett's words hit cherries in the cop's head, and I can hear something in there. He can't believe Esme's our mom, though.

"Dr. Cullen mentioned expecting his kid," Officer Quiet-Head says. I shoot Emmett a gloating look at the use of the singular "kid." Then I feel kind of bad.

"Yeah, we're staying with them for a while," I say. Mumbly-Thoughts looks at me closely for the first time. He's not impressed. Whatever. I've been not impressing small-town Americans since before his predecessors were driving Commies and artistic types out of town.

"Well, I guess I don't want to keep you if Mrs. Cullen's expecting you." The cop smiles and straightens up. He's not that tall, but this car is so little that we're staring at his cop belt buckle.

Emmett and I glance at each other in relief, but then he stoops back down.

"Don't let me catch you driving like that again, boys." He addresses us but his suspicious cop-eyes are on me.

"No problem, Officer…" Emmett smiles at him and waits for his name.

"Chief Swan," the cop says. "Give Dr. and Mrs. Cullen my regards."

With that he walks away, but I know that Emmett is going to have to do the runs to town for a while because Chief Swan has decided that he no more trusts me living out here than he would trust a snake not to bite.

Great. Just what I need.

Thankfully, we get to Carlisle's house before turning into early-morning disco balls. I don't get it. Forks is supposed to be the rainiest place in the United States. Must be global warming.

Carlisle's new house is way out in the woods, right on the edge of Olympic National Forest. Perfect location for teaching to someone to change their diet from people to deer.

There's just one thing that's worrying me, but I have my answer as soon as I get out of the car.

_**The Wolves**_

_Ever since Dokibatt-K'wa'iti had made the first person from a wolf__, t__he __Quileutes __had enjoyed the isolation of living on the edge of the world. Mild weather, endless forests, the Pacific Ocean and plenty of privacy. _

_They responded to their first encounters with Europeans by enslaving them which may have given the tribe an unrealistic amount of hubris in its dealings with the encroaching world._

_Never would they have expected to be signing a treaty eighty years later, which limited them to a little corner of their once vast world and taking away their rights to own other people._

_Then followed the white teachers who took away their names__, a__nd the settlers who burned their homes. It was enough to make you howl._

_So, when they encountered a couple of nicely dressed vampires hunting in their territory__, __he wolves of Quileute had had enough._

_They had encountered monsters like these before. Occasionally a vampire or two would wander into their territory to find themselves quickly outnumbered. As much resentment as the tribe may have towards the people of the town, they hated vampires more._

_They could identify the malefactors by smell from several miles away and always went in eagerly for the kill. And the enmity was mutual._

_So, with their territory clearly marked, why would this group of overgrown ticks decide to hunt on their land?_

_Carlisle Cullen wasn't just any overgrown tick; he had been abstaining from human blood for his entire three-century life. He knew about the vampire-friendly climate and isolation in this part of the country__. He figured Forks would be the perfect place to take his __newly changed spouse and willful, erratic offspring__. H__e also knew about the Quileutes__, b__ut he hoped that they could reach an agreement._

Emmett hasn't experienced the wolves of Quileute first-hand, so he doesn't know what to make of the rancid-wool funk permeating the house. I see his nostrils twitch, but Esme and Carlisle have come out to greet us before he has a chance to ask me.

"Boys, I'm so glad you're here!" Esme hugs me. She's like the only one who's allowed to do that.

Emmett greets Esme and Carlisle like the eager puppy dog that he is, but as they are walking back into the house, he catches my eye.

"Is it just me or does something smell…weird?" He uses his best "quiet" whisper, but he's pretty bad at "quiet" so Carlisle totally hears him. He pauses to let Esme go into the house before talking to us.

"Just so you know, we've got a guest here already." Carlisle makes eye contact with me to make sure I understand. Esme is apparently quite fond of her new dog.

"What?" asks Emmett. He's impatient to be let in on the secret.

"Just make sure you're being polite to the boy, and try not to leave your slippers out for him to gnaw on." I say. Emmett gets it and shakes his head.

"We've got a werewolf here?" he asks.

"Shape-shifter, actually," Carlisle notes. "Werewolves only change with the full moon. The local tribe change at will or when agitated."

"What's he doing here?" I ask. Like this isn't all screwed up enough that I have to engage in all of Carlisle's craziness, but I have to wear a clothespin on my nose while I do it?

"The tribe was less than thrilled about my proposal. I think I convinced them that it was in everyone's best interest that more of our kind learn to control their bloodlust, but they still want to have someone here for…quality control."

"Makes sense," Emmett says. Because he would basically agree with anything that Carlisle says.

"Are they going to pay to get the carpets fumigated when he leaves?" I ask.

Carlisle frowns at me. Then I see it in his head. I stare at him, appalled. "He's not leaving?"

Carlisle nods. "He'll be staying here as a form of in-house security. He's a nice young man. Esme _adores_ him."

I follow Carlisle into the house. Which smells like a kennel.

God, it just keeps getting worse.

**a/n: Thank you so much for reading! xoxo JuJu**


	4. Self-Will Run Riot

_**a/n: All of the thanks to **__**Gigi Scott and Bigblueboat from Project Team Beta for the comma transfusions and other help. If I chose to disregard their advice the blame is on me.**_

"That's a wolf?" Emmett whispers to me, gesturing to the adolescent sitting on Esme's white leather couch. He looks to be about 13 years old, and he's wearing black-framed glasses, skinny jeans (of all abominations) and a _Star Wars_ t-shirt. Great. A pre-teen hipster werewolf.

"Hey, Esme," Teen-wolf says, through a mouthful of what looks like nachos. "Can I get a glass of milk?"

Esme's face lights up. "Of course, Seth." She bustles out of the living room, and Hipster-wolf finally notices us.

"Hey!" He gets up and offers Emmett and me his melted-cheese covered hand. Which Emmett takes and shakes politely. "I'm Seth. You must be Emmett, right?" Emmett responds with a smile. "And Edward?" He looks at me, and I reluctantly take the proffered cheese-handshake. "Esme and Carlisle have told me so much about you! Plus, I looked you up on IMDB. _Viking Zombies_ was an awesome movie! I can't believe you guys worked on that."

Emmett and I look at each other. _Viking Zombies_ was, like, the worst movie we ever worked on, and this kid is 100% serious. We don't know whether to feel flattered or scornful. Predictably, Emmett feels flattered, and I chose scornful.

"It's always nice to meet a sophisticated movie buff like yourself, Seth," I say.

"So, you're a werewolf?" Emmett blurts out. Seth rolls his eyes.

"Emmett, where are your manners?" I chide. "You can't just ask people if they turn into wolves. It's rude." Emmett side-eyes me.

"It's cool, man," Seth says, waving a nonchalant paw.

"No, it's not okay," I continue. "Emmett really needs to work on not being such a racist. In his defense, he_ is_ from the South."

"No, it really doesn't bother me," Seth says sweetly, smiling at Emmett. I kind of hate how earnest he is. "It's the reason I'm here. My sister's boyfriend is the alpha, and he's been desperate to get me off the reservation. So he sent me here to 'monitor.'" Seth does big air-quotes accompanied by an even bigger eye-roll. I can see his irritation for the alpha and realize that he's not going to be a major threat here. As if that wasn't already clear from his poor taste in movies, and the fact that he's, like, 12.

"It's better here, anyway," he adds with a grin. "The food's better, and Carlisle isn't too cheap to get good TV."

"I hope you've got the right channel blocks," I say to Carlisle. "We wouldn't want to expose Seth to any inappropriate material."

"Dude, I'm twenty," Seth says.

Carlisle interrupts, probably trying to keep Emmett and me from freaking out from the shock. "Boys, let's get your bags in, and I'll show you what I've done so far."

"Yeah, Carlisle's got this thing super organized," Seth pitches in. I am realizing that I am now going to have to put up with two supernatural creatures who think Carlisle is the cat's freakin' pajamas. Great.

He is following us out to the car, but he stops suddenly on the porch.

"A Prius?"

I have to laugh.

"Yeah," Emmett says. He jingles the keys nervously in his enormous hand. "What did you expect? A hearse?"

"No…I just…" Seth stutters a little. I'm still laughing.

"This is great!" Carlisle admires the tiny, sage-green car. "I've been meaning to check one out." Of course. I roll my eyes while Emmett beams at him.

I grab my bags, start to head back to the house and let Carlisle and Emmett lavish affection on each other, but Esme stops me.

"Oh, dear," she says, cautiously. I see what she's about to tell me.

"The garage?" I stare at Esme. "I have to stay over the garage with Emmett? What about my room?"

Esme always has a room for me, no matter where she and Carlisle are living. I always pretend she's wasting space, but really, it makes me feel loved.

"We need the rooms in the house for the…patients." Carlisle says over his shoulder. I can tell he doesn't even care.

"It's not like you need a bed." Emmett grins at me. Et tu, Emmett?

**Edward's Resentment or Why It's Okay For Him to Share a Tiny Over-The-Garage-Apartment with Emmett**

**Edward could read minds. The greatest thing about being able to read minds was the sense of superiority it gave him. He had gone through a full spectrum of reactions when he woke up and realized that he was privy to the thoughts of every creature within a three-mile radius. At first it was overwhelming. Then it was irritating. Then it was awesome. It gave him control over every interaction he had with every person he met - human, vampire, werewolf, whatever. **

**He was watching the San Francisco Giants play his beloved Cubs in 1989 in the League series**, a**nd when the Giant's catcher**, W**ill Clark**, re**ad the pitcher, the legendary Maddux's lips and knocked his high fastball out of the park, Edward thought to himself that Clark knew exactly how he felt, all day every day. When you could read people's minds**, yo**u could hit every single one out of the park. Grand slam.**

**It was awesome in all ways but one. Sex. It turned out that being able to read minds was the ultimate libido-killer. Seriously.**

**His first post-vampire attempt was doomed from the start, to be fair. He was no more than a few months old when he made a visit to the only house of ill repute in the Canadian town closest to the rural cabin Carlisle spirited him off to after changing him.**

**The red-haired lady of the evening was named Angelina**, a**nd she had really nice legs and poor taste in perfume. But her cheap scent masked the smell of her blood enough that he was able to get her blouse off and get her mostly horizontal. **

**But he was immediately flooded with the contents of her head. **_**"Sweet Lord, this one looks SO good! I'm glad that cow Estelle wasn't here; she would have knocked me down to get him first. I wonder how big he is. He's so tall; I bet it's a handful. He smells amazing. I wonder if he lives near here. I could convince him to become a regular. I should have offered him a drink. He seems to have the money. His eyes are so odd. I**_'_**ve never seen any that color…"**_** And on and on, ad nauseum. He was so startled by it that he clenched his fists and crumpled her upper arm bones and had to cover her mouth with his hand to muffle the screams while he took her life. **

**Strike one.**

**The next time he tried he figured a vampire would be better, you know, for resiliency purposes. It had been five years since he'd been changed**, a**nd he was finding that there really weren't any exceptions to the access he had to the minds of the creatures around him, human or vampire. It was still fun being able to read their minds**, b**ut it had cut off many burgeoning sexual attractions.**

**His next attempt was an ancient creature by the name of Tanya. She should have been perfect. She was immortal like him, she only fed from animals like his sire and English was not her first language. He should have hit it out the park.**

**Unfortunately, the Tanya experiment was even worse than the dead Canadian hooker. First, she kept thinking in English.**

**"Stop it," Edward growled into her perfect breast. **

**"Stop what, malchik?" she purred.**

**"Thinking in English," he said. "It's distracting."**

**"Even when I think about this?" She named a sex-act in English that even **_**he**_** found perverse and repulsive. He came to a full stop, pants off and his hand no more than an inch from victory.**

**"You've done that? Never mind. Don't answer that, please."**

**Edward rubbed his face vigorously, trying to get the thought out of his head. Then he regarded her with his most seductive smile.**

**"I'm sorry," he crooned. "Russian would just be less distracting." He tapped his forehead and resumed his previous assault.**

**But he found himself distracted by her Russian thoughts. What if she was thinking about **_**it **_**again? What if she was thinking about even worse acts? He had never considered himself prudish**, b**ut she was seriously **_**perverse**_**.**

**Strike two.**

**Since assault by thought was clearly interfering with his abilities to get his more primal needs met, Edward decided that what he needed was someone who didn't speak English and, in fact, whose thoughts he couldn't translate. So he decided that someone from a non-literate culture would be perfect.**

**But finding a woman who was a) a vampire b) didn't speak English and c) came from a culture that hadn't developed a written language proved to be as hard as it sounds.**

**He scoured the African savannahs, the banks of the Amazon and parts of Asia that, frankly, would have made a National Geographic explorer, well, climax. It wasn't until 1962 that he stumbled upon Ahnah, an Inuit woman living in the remotest part of Canada with her brother Cikug. An immortal passing through attempting to hide from the Volturi had changed him capriciously. Cikug accidentally changed his sister when he attacked her in his early-vampire bloodlust.**

**They lived on moose, various sea animals and the occasional wanderer from nearby villages, as well as the sporadic lost sailor. They were thrilled to see another of their kind**, a**nd it was a fairly easy seduction, despite the language barrier. He just brought a few sailors from a nearby whaler. Again, Canadians had to die in an attempt to get him some action.**

**But no sooner did Edward get her alone in the igloo did he realized that there was a problem. He wasn't plagued by the words in her head any more than he was bothered by the persistent smell of sea creature. But the second his lips made contact with her face**, h**e realized that she was an exceptionally visual person. It was like…kissing himself in the mirror. He closed his eyes**, h**oping she would do the same. But even with her eyes closed**, t**he image in her head was of him.**

**He tried to ignore it and worked off a layer of her sealskin clothing followed by his own weatherproofed wool and rubber. Still, the images bombarding him were…him.**

**He clenched his eyes shut and fantasized about a woman that wasn't Ahnah. He had to go back forty years for personal reference. He managed to get something that resembled an erection while fighting off the images. But it was no use. After several valiant hours of effort**, h**e had to abandon the lovely, dark-haired woman to her igloo and her brother. It was just too much like masturbation, seeing all those images of himself while trying to have sex with a woman.**

**Strike three.**

**So Edward gave up. He had three unsuccessful sexual encounters in a hundred years**, a**nd ****he was horny and crabby and resentful.**

I drop my bags off in the tiny, cramped room I'm sharing with Emmett and head back into the house. If Seth the Wonder Dog has a room in the main house, I'm going to throw a fit.

I find Emmett and Carlisle staring at a blurry piece of paper that turns out to be a fax from Italy. I bet Aro's got that weird, curly thermal paper: although, where you even buy that nowadays is a mystery.

"It looks like 'Alum' and 'Jume,'" Emmett says.

"I've no doubt that there's a vampire named 'Alum' living there," I snipe. "After all, it's such a popular name."

"It's got to be Jane and Alec," Carlisle says, frowning at the fax.

"The Wonder Twins?" I ask skeptically. "You think Aro would send them _here_?"

"It looked like it was someone major who slipped up," Emmett says. "It makes sense that it would be them."

"That's going to be a nose-bleed dealing with a couple of detoxing, sociopathic infants," I complain. "Nothing I haven't done before," Carlisle says, looking at me a little bit too long. Whatever.

"I also have some voluntary sign-ups," he adds.

"J. Whitlock and guest," Emmett reads off the screen of the laptop in front of him.

"Fuck," I say.

"You know him?" Emmett asks me.

I glare at the screen for a minute, nodding grimly. "'J. Whitlock,'" I say snidely. "Is the most manipulative, irritating, dissolute…"

"Imminently arriving," Seth interrupts from the door.

"…Phony, slimy, reprobate…what?" I look at Wolf-Boy in alarm.

"He called this morning to say he'd be here by three," Seth says. "Which is right about now. Is he a punctual guy?"

"It would be my luck, wouldn't it?" I say.

I bet _he_ even gets to stay in the house.

_**a/n: Thank you so much for your patience. I have no idea what happened to me this month. Aliens, probably. Thanks for reading and reviewing and I'll see you soon(er)!**_

_**xoxo**_

_**JuJu**_


	5. Hostages

**a/n: This mess got rehabbed by Bigblueboat and Twilightmom505 from PTB. Any continuing issues are due to my being in love with my own writing flaws.**

_**"Alcoholics don't have relationships, they take hostages."**_

So I'm up a tree, staring at this delicious enigma of a woman; this gorgeous thing with no thoughts, this image of female perfection whose only apparent flaw is that she maybe doesn't love hygiene as much as I might wish. I mean, vampires don't sweat, but it's good to take a shower every once in a while anyway, right? Of course, I'm basing this all on her seeming to wear two weeks worth of eye-liner all over the upper part of her face and her raggedy hair. Maybe it's the style. Who am I to say? I'm, like, a century old. I was shocked when women started showing ankle and not wearing corsets.

Oh, and the other potential wrench is that she's apparently with Whitlock. But that's really not a deal-breaker. Whitlock goes through women like Emmett goes through sunglasses: quickly and without mercy.

I'm so excited I want to rub my hands together like a cheesy horror villain. So, I do it. I'm in a tree, for Christ's sake! Like I'm worried about what people might think?

Then, I decide to get down to business. I jump down from the tree and am about to sashay back to the house to make her acquaintance, when it occurs to me that I might need a plan.

I mean, I haven't stolen a woman away from someone since I was human. Stuff may have changed since 1917 in terms of the gentle art of persuasion. I can't read her mind. How am I going to know whether my tactics are working?

Plus, I'm sharing a room with Emmett. With a single bed. Above the garage. I'm not exactly negotiating from a position of strength.

I walk in a circle for a minute, rubbing my head. It's a thing I do when I'm thinking. Emmett says he can tell when I've been struggling with something because I look like one of those troll dolls.

Emmett! I could kick myself for not thinking of it immediately. He's the most resourceful guy I know. He'll have an idea. I text him.

NEED YOUR HELP. IN WOODS.

I think for a second and then add:

COME ALONE.

Then I think of something:

WAIT. BRING WOLF-BOY.

My phone beeps with a message from Emmett.

MAKE UP YOUR MIND.

I reply:

GET OUT HERE. NOW.

Emmett and Sir Smells-a-lot show up about five minutes later. They look thoroughly confused. Actually, Emmett looks confused, and Seth looks thrilled. I am glad to see it as I plan to leverage his awe of us to serve my evil scheme.

"What's this about?" Emmett says. "It was a little awkward to try to get out of there while greeting Jasper and his girl. It might have been a little bit rude."

"I don't care what Whitlock thinks," I say. My voice is getting high pitched but I manage to get it under control. "What did you think of her?" I ask, trying to pick up anything interesting from their memories while sounding casual. I fail.

"She seems cool," Seth says as Emmett simultaneously asks, "Why?"

"Why what?" I answer, trying to appear nonchalant. But Emmett knows me.

"Why the sudden interest in Jasper's mate?" Emmett asks.

I snort. "His mate? Is that what he called her?"

"Yeah," Seth interjects.

I shake my head.

"Whitlock's had at least four 'mates' that I know of," I say, annoying even myself with the air-quote thing. "You're only supposed to have one," I add as an aside to Seth who nods.

"He calls them all mates; right up until he bails on them," I go on.

"So what's your interest in this one?" Emmett asks. "You never ask about girls unless it's to find out when they're going to go away."

"It's not my fault you have had the most annoying girlfriends in the world," I say.

"It's not my fault you have a problem with niceness," Emmett adds.

"Nice isn't how I would describe your type, Em. I would use 'simpering' or 'banal.'"

"Beth wasn't simpering." Emmett names his most recent girlfriend.

"She was the worst! How'd you meet her? Place a 'Vampire seeks Oatmeal' ad on Craiglist?"

"Are you mad because she tried to fix you up with her brother?" Emmett asks.

"No. I'm mad that I'll never get the two hours back that I spent looking at her vacation photos from the furniture museum."

"You're immortal," Emmett counters.

"Two hours of historically important dining room chairs made me wish I wasn't!"

"So why are you asking about Bella?" Seth interjects.

"Right," Emmett says, remembering the point of all this. "What's the big emergency?"

"Bella," I say her name out loud, savoring it. "Nice."

"You know what else would be nice?" Emmett asks. "Knowing why we're out here in the woods."

"I can't hear her thoughts," I say, waiting for Emmett to get the importance of this.

"You can't…" He realizes what I'm talking about. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I say, triumphantly. "Not even a peep."

"What…" Seth is confused.

"Romeo here can't read her mind." Emmett gestures toward me with his big head. "That makes her his dream girl."

"I thought you guys didn't sleep," Seth says. I start to sneer at him and then remember why I wanted him to come out here. I catch myself mid-sneer.

"Seth, you've got a room in the house, right?"

"Yeah," he says. "Esme even got me…"

"I need it," I cut him off.

"I thought you guys didn't sleep," he says. Again.

"We don't," I say. "But being in your room will put me closer to Bella and her dirt-bag boyfriend. Not to mention giving the appearance of not being a total weirdo sharing a single room with Emmett. No offense, Em." I nod at him.

"None taken," Emmett says. "But how can you be sure of splitting them up?"

"I don't even think I have to split them up." I shrug. "I think Whitlock can do that on his own."

**THE ROMANTIC ADVENTURES OF JASPER WHITLOCK OR, THE SOURCE OF EDWARD'S CONFIDENCE**

**Edward first encountered Jasper Whitlock in Mexico in 1930. It was Edward's first rebellious period, and he reveled in throwing off Carlisle's restrictions and world-view and feeding on whomever he wanted. **

**Jasper and his creator, Maria, were living in Mexico City**, a**nd Whitlock invited Edward to join them. Edward had never been part of a coven of vampires before. It was fun for about three days. Then Jasper left - on an errand - and Edward got to see what Maria was like without the sedative effects of Jasper's gift.**

**In a word-crazy.**

**She raged throughout the house, tearing things from shelves and cursing servants she had already killed. She was mercurial, vainglorious and delusional.**

**To exacerbate the situation, Whitlock didn't return. Edward quickly realized that he had been invited to join them to give Whitlock an "out."**

**After destroying his things, Maria turned her attentions to Edward, who rebuffed her, sending her back into a frenzy, attracting the attention of the Mexico City police, all the neighbors and generally necessitating a daylight escape to avoid the attention of the Volturi. Then, Edward had to find a way to distract Maria long enough to escape from **_**her.**_

**It was so traumatic**, h**e returned to Carlisle just for the peace and quiet. It made him feel as though he had failed in being rebellious and that his maker had been right about the volatility of those who didn't adopt a diet of animals. It was embarrassing and Edward hated being embarrassed.**

**So, it was doubly embarrassing when Edward fell for it a second time.**

**He encountered Jasper again, in 1969. It was in San Francisco**, a**nd the continuing, degenerating party that had been the Summer of Love made a surprisingly good place for a vampire to hunt. Children from all over the country flocked to the burgeoning scene, and if some of them disappeared, most people would just assume they had followed the spirit of the age to a commune, Canada, gotten drafted, overdosed, gone home or to India, on and on; an infinite number of fates awaited the long-haired free spirits, including getting drained by a handsome vampire after leaving a party at one of the run-down Victorians or sleeping in the park.**

Plus, no one dared judge you for being pale, wearing sunglasses at all times or refusing to be seen in sunlight. Honestly, that probably just meant you had a good connection.

**Jasper had–**-o**n a whim-hanged a pretty redhead named Victoria that he met at a party in Berkeley. She had left her parents' farm in North Dakota**, fo**llowing a young man who turned out to prefer other young men. She was feisty-that seemed to be Whitlock's type-and she seemed to prefer hunting the dull, middle-aged businessmen who came to her part of the city to sightsee or pick up feckless young girls. She would lead them on a frolic in Golden Gate Park before surprising them with how distinctly **_**un-helpless **_**she was.**

**They had fun together-the three of them-for about a year. Whitlock had apologized profusely for abandoning Edward with Maria and had convinced him that Victoria was his mate.**

**Victoria was convinced of it, too. Which is why she was so surprised when Whitlock hopped a ship to Harbin one day, leaving them a note sincerely apologizing and wishing them well.**

**Edward wished Jasper didn't like his women so feisty. In a scene now familiar to him, Victoria went on a murderous rampage, attracting the prompt attention of the Volturi guard, who had to step in and maintain order, by which they meant immolating Victoria and almost doing the same to Edward.**

**The only thing that saved his skin was his gift for reading minds**,a**nd he had to give up ten years to the guard. He liked hanging out with Aro most of the time**, b**ut it was one thing to enjoy the city as a guest and another to be forced to stay there with all of its intrigue, gossip and pettiness. Plus the dust.**

**The only upside of his ten years in Volterra was meeting Emmett. **

"Whitlock is a serial monogamist," I tell Seth. "He goes through mates like you guys go through clothes. Tell him, Em." I gesture to Emmett, whose heard my Whitlock-related rant for forty years now and will agree just to get me to shut up.

"It's true, man," Emmett says. "He's kind of a scumbag when it comes to women."

"Well, I do sleep, and I don't really know about sharing a room with you," Seth speaks carefully. "No offense, but you guys smell like rotten butterscotch."

"Em will stay out of the room," I say.

Emmett starts to protest. I hold up my hand to him. "Plus, we'll introduce you to Tyler Crowley." I figure dropping the name of the director of_ Viking Zombies _will do the trick. Even if it was a shitty movie and the guy's an asshole.

"Really?" Seth's face lights up. "That'd be amazing! I totally have this idea for a movie where these werewolves battle cyborg dudes and…"

"It sounds great," I cut him off. "Just add some gratuitous sex and Tyler will love it. So, we have a deal?"

Seth nods eagerly. "Yeah, man. You can totally use my room."

"Cool," I say. I look at Emmett. "So, how do I look?" I brush the foliage off of my clothes and run my fingers through my hair. Emmett looks at me carefully.

"As a heterosexual male, I have to say you look…like a guy?" Emmett says, shrugging his shoulders.

It's going to have to do.

I practice my best charming smile as we walk back to the house. I am incredibly nervous, what with all the stuff they say about first impressions and all.

"You know, this Bella seems pretty…straightforward," Emmett mentions as we walk back. "You know, kind of no-bullshit?" He pauses and then continues. "Maybe it would be best if you were…less scheming? I think she'd appreciate that."

I nod at him. "That seems like good advice." I never have been what you would call "honest" with women, but then I am way, way out of practice. Women are different now. Maybe being more genuine would be the best approach here.

We get to the house, and I take a big, completely unnecessary breath before walking in and following the voices to the living room. Fucking Whitlock is standing there talking to Esme, and Bella is looking at a piece of weird sculpture.

"Eddie," Whitlock gives me a big smile that makes me want to punch his fangs out and extends his hand. "It's great to see you again."

"Whitlock," I say, smiling sarcastically at him. I think about dropping a "It's been years since you abandoned a woman with me," but I don't want Bella to think I'm rude.

"Let me introduce you to my Bella," he says, gesturing over to the vision of loveliness examining bad art across the room from us.

She turns and I am, again, stunned by her beauty, the pristine silence of her mind and the filthiness of her clothes.

"Bella," I say, in what I hope is a really sincere voice. "It's a pleasure."

Her red eyes examine me, flickering from my head down to my shoes-Italian, of course. I hope she's checking me out.

"Nice to meet you," she says. She has a low, somewhat quiet voice that belies her tough exterior. "You've got, um, leaves in your cuffs," she adds, gesturing down to the foliage on my pants.

Emmett snickers behind me. Fucker.

**a/n: It seems disingenuous for me to continue to apologize for taking so long to update this. But I am sorry.**

**Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! xoxo JuJu**


	6. 13th Step

_**a/n: This chapter was aided immeasurably by Bigblueboat and Gigi Scott at Project Team Beta. Any mistakes are my own. Also, I don't own it.**_

"_We do not want to be the arbiter of anyone's sex life. We all have sex problems. We'd hardly be human if we didn't_**."**

**The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous**

Emmett is a dick for not telling me about the leaves in my cuff, but I decide that the fact that he has to room with Fido is payback enough.

I laugh and pick the leaves out of my cuff. "We were doing a little reconnaissance," I say, flicking the leaves at Emmett's head. "You know, checking out the perimeter, making sure we've got plenty of privacy to hunt." I like using words like "perimeter" and "hunt." I think it makes me sound macho. Especially since I work in movies where I'm more likely to say things like "ambiance," "atmospheric" and "I can't believe that's your entire music budget."

"Oh, good." Carlisle joins us from the kitchen. "Did you happen to see the man who moved into the old cook's house?" The state park Carlisle's property borders used to be owned by a logging company, and this decrepit shack the cook used to live in is one of the only buildings still standing. No one's supposed to be living in it.

"How is there a person living there?" I ask Carlisle. "That's only a few miles from here. It's not safe if we have…thirsty vampires here." I look at Bella. "No offense," I say to her. She waves a forgiving hand at me. I don't apologize to Whitlock.

"I have no idea why he's being allowed to live there," Carlisle says. "We'll just have to make sure everyone steers clear of him." I see a hazy image of the mysterious resident in Carlisle's head. He's older with long grey hair and a beard.

"Is there someplace I can put my stuff?" Bella asks. She shrugs the shoulder holding a grungy army backpack, and then I see that she also has a small black bag at her feet.

"Of course, Bella," Esme says. "I'll show you your room."

"I can show her," I volunteer, like the Boy Scout I am. "Which room is Bella staying in?"

"They're staying in the third floor, the one with the Stickley desk." Esme smiles at Bella. "Bella's a writer."

"Really?" I smile at Bella. "What do you write?"

"Poetry, mostly," she says. Her eyes flicker over to Whitlock in a look I can't read, and she picks up her bag.

"Let me get that for you," I say. I try to take the bag from her, but her grip is firm.

"I'm okay," she says, her jaw clenching as she smiles at me tightly. I hear a throat clear behind me. Whitlock speaks.

"I'd let her get that, sport," he drawls. I look at him. He has an amused smile on his face. The very face upon which I would like to punch him. I look at Bella again. She looks quite determined. I take my hand off the bag.

"Okay" I say. "Shall we?" I gesture for her to follow. As we walk up the stairs, I say over my shoulder, "I'd love to read your poetry." I hear a snort. I realize that Whitlock is following us, and I throw a glare in his direction.

"Bella's a feminist writer," he says. I glance at her. She squares her jaw at me and looks defiant.

"Great," I say. "I was going to vote for the Nineteenth Amendment, but then I died." This is true. Except for the part where I agreed with women's suffrage. When I was alive, I honestly thought that women voting was a terrible idea. And then they voted in the Prohibition, and I knew I was right. But the dying part was true.

We reach the bedroom, and Bella and Whitlock put down their bags. I stand there awkwardly, trying not to look at the bed. I'm irritated that they are sharing a room.

"Thank you for your help," she says to me.

"Yeah," Whitlock butts in between us. "Thanks for all the _attention_, Eddie." I glare at him. _"I know what you're trying to do." Hi_s thoughts aren't angry, more amused. _"You've got lust seeping off you like stink off a pig." _

"You ever hear from Maria?" I ask him, my eyes flickering over to Bella. She's pulling books and papers out of the black case, oblivious to our conversation.

He smiles and nods at me. _"That's an interesting tactic. If that's all you got, you might need to go back to the drawing board." _He gestures over to Bella with his head_. "She's not going to care about some crap that happened before she was born."_

"We haven't kept in touch," he says. I nod.

"Yeah, I guess that was pretty awkward," I say. "You know, the way you abandoned her." I glance at Bella, who doesn't seem to be paying us any attention. But who can tell? It's not like I can read her mind.

"I don't want to keep you any longer," Whitlock says. He starts nudging me toward the door. Which means that no matter what he says, Bella may care that he's been a total asshole to some women. I mean, there has to be some kind of girl solidarity thing, right?

I decide that this was a minor victory and to retreat.

"Let me know if you need anything." I sidle up to Bella on the way out. She looks up from her arranging a stack of papers and nods.

"Thanks," she says, with the subtlest, tiniest smile in the world.

I strut down the stairs, planning my next move. I'll have to get Bella alone so I can fill her in on what a world-class scumbag Whitlock is without his interference. I figure I can also make myself ultra-useful to her, perhaps with my excellent animal stalking skills. The writing thing could also be handy, as much as I think it's silly to write feminist poetry. I mean, who reads that stuff? Women's Studies professors? Lesbians? Graduate students? Goofy.

I wonder what's up with all that grunginess. It's so Pearl Jam—disaffected youth.

Carlisle interrupts me in the process of looking for Seth so I can claim my room.

"I think we should have Bella and Jasper feed as soon as possible," he says to me. "If they're full, it seems like they'd be less likely to slip up."

"I agree," I say, shocking Carlisle. I don't think I've admitted to agreeing with him since 1982. "I'll take Bella. I'd be happy to show her the ropes."

"I appreciate that," he says. "However, I'm having Esme help Bella. I thought you could entertain Jasper until they get back. I don't think it's a good idea to have both of them out at the same time."

I make a face at him. "Can't Emmett babysit Whitlock?"

"It's almost four o'clock!" Emmett yells from the living room. "_Eclipse_ is on!" Emmett's a total weirdo.

"Edward, you know how much this means to me," Carlisle says in his best guilt-inducing voice. I stuff my hands in my pockets and shrug.

"Fine," I say. "But Emmett gets redneck-sitting duty next time." Carlisle nods agreeably.

"Tell Colonel Sanders I'll be in the living room," I say over my shoulder and go to join Emmett on the couch. The annoying theme song for _Eclipse _is on, and I know better than to launch straight into complaining. Emmett's obsessed with this show. He's humming along with the intro.

I just sit there, alternately brooding about Whitlock and planning how to get into Bella's filthy jeans until the dirtbag himself comes in and starts talking.

"Edward, just what do you think…"

"SHHH!" we both hiss at him, and oddly enough, he complies and sits down. He's quiet until the next commercial.

"_What_ are you two watching?" he asks. He is looking at us with a mixture of disgust and amusement. Understandable.

"_Eclipse_," Emmett answers him. "It's this great show about these four teenage girls who are witches. They live in this…"

"It was a rhetorical question." Whitlock cuts him off. "Emmett, right?"

Emmett nods.

"Emmett, I am just a little surprised," Whitlock drawls. I can see he's about to imply that Emmett is…well…less than heterosexual. What Twitlock doesn't know is that no one is allowed to make fun of Emmett but me.

"Emmett likes Rosalie Hale," I say. "The blonde one with the big—"

"Edward!" Emmett interrupts me this time. "Be respectful."

"I know who Rosalie Hale is," Whitlock says. "I heard she had a major drug problem. Totally Lohan-ed out, you know? Also, there was that tape going around…"

"None of that stuff is true," Emmett says. "There are tons of vicious rumors going around since she split with Royce King, but it's all just tabloid nonsense." I almost felt sorry for Whitlock. Emmett's easy-going about almost everything but the rumors about Rosalie Hale. It's the weirdest thing. He can talk about abortion, the Middle East, Lady Gaga, whatever. No issues. But you impugn the reputation of Rosalie Hale, and he gets all intense.

"I'm just saying…" Whitlock tries to talk, but Emmett shushes him again.

"It's back on," he says primly.

So we sit there quietly for eight more minutes; Whitlock deliciously out of his depth and Emmett soothing himself with his favorite Disney show.

The next commercial break starts.

"The girl in the video is not Rosalie Hale," Emmett says before Whitlock can say anything. "You can tell from the tattoo on her…posterior. Rosalie only has two tattoos: a horseshoe on her ankle to commemorate her grandfather who bred horses and a dolphin on her shoulder she got when she passed the GED."

"What does a dolphin have to do with passing the GED?" Whitlock asks.

"Tattoos don't have to be literal," Emmett responds, sneering as if Whitlock had just blown his nose in his hand or something. "What was she supposed to get? A test booklet? A #2 pencil?"

"Plus, dolphins are pretty smart," I add.

"So, a dolphin could pass the GED?" Whitlock asks.

"Don't be stupid." Emmett rolls his eyes. "It's not like they could hold a pencil. They have fins. What's wrong with you?"

Whitlock's eyes have gone wide, and he has clearly lost track of why he came in here. Then he looks at me and remembers.

"Edward, we need to talk about…"

"It's back on," I say. I smile at him and shrug as Emmett's stupid Disney show continues. Whitlock sits through the last part of the show anxiously. At one point, he starts to tap his foot restlessly, but Emmett glares at him and he stops.

When the credits roll, he turns to me again.

"Isn't there some kind of vampire code that you don't try to pick up someone else's mate?" he asks me.

"There's no vampire code," I respond. "The only rules are don't get caught by humans and don't tell Aro he looks like Iggy Pop."

"Yeah, especially that second one," Emmett adds. "Trust me. You won't like the consequences." Emmett shudders.

"Yeah, that was my bad," I say apologetically.

"What did he do?" Whitlock asks.

"He made me…Wait!" He suddenly looks at me. "You don't think that this whole thing is Aro's way of…"

I cut him off. "No. This is legit. I could tell from how nervous he got."

"But, one of the names was J. Volturi. She's totally coming here." Emmett had real fear in his eyes. Whitlock just shifted his head back and forth like he was watching a tennis match.

"Don't worry," I reassure Emmett again. "We'll manage it."

"Anyway…" Whitlock tried to get us back on track. "What do you think you're doing with my mate?"

"She's not your mate, Whitlock," I say.

"How do you know?" he asks.

"Because when I look at the minds of vampires who are mated, when they think of their mate or see them, there's a…thing their brain does. It's like it lights up, like one of those things you snap in half and shake?"

"Like a glow stick," Emmett says helpfully.

I nod. "Yeah, like a glow stick. Your brain doesn't do that with her."

"What about her?" Whitlock asks.

"Edward can't read her…" I cut Emmett off with a look. The look that says "I'm going to tear your arm off and hide it." I do not want Whitlock knowing about that. Any information gives him leverage, as far as I'm concerned.

"You can't read her mind?" Whitlock confirms with a smile. Emmett mouths "sorry" at me.

"That's why you're hot for her!" Whitlock stands up and crows at me, that maddening smile on his face. I don't respond. He points his finger at me. Rude.

"You're just chasing her because having to hear a girl's thoughts ruins it for you," he accuses. "If that's the case, why wouldn't you go for Ramada, or whatever that Italian woman's name is?"

"Renata?" I say, shuddering. "She's creepy."

"She smells like cold cream and garlic," Emmett confirms.

"Yeah," I say to Emmett, nodding furiously. "Why would she smell like that? That makes no sense."

"Can you two stay on topic?" Whitlock throws his hands up. We look at him.

"Anyway, you're not going to get this one." Whitlock crosses his arms.

"I figured I could just pick up the pieces when you leave," I say mildly.

But then I realize where I'd made a mistake. Because by admitting that I wanted something he had, I'd made it automatically more attractive to him. He would never let me have the satisfaction of winning.

I'm going to have to get more creative. And maybe call in some favors. I wonder if Aro has figured out how to answer his cell phone yet.'

_**a/n: Thanks for all the patience and reviews and reading and stuff. Xoxo JuJu**_


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